


Rebirth

by Tekko



Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Fluff, Foul Language, Multi, Religion, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25588270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tekko/pseuds/Tekko
Summary: For the longest time, there was nothing. Then, suddenly - life.Please read notes for full warnings (there are several)
Relationships: Asuka Ryo | Satan/Fudo Akira, Satan/OFC
Comments: 11
Kudos: 62





	Rebirth

**Author's Note:**

> Whoo, been a while! Gonna try and keep this short and sweet-
> 
> I do not own and am in no way affiliated with the author/creators of the Devilman series. This is a work of passion and I do not get paid to write smug (unfortunately).
> 
> This is written in a way that places no specific gender to Satan, who's POV is dominate in this fic. It does switch here and there so bare with me - and if it's still way too confusing, gimme a ping and I can try and rework some things (It's after 2am that I'm finishing this and just want it uuuup at this point)
> 
> While I feel like it isn't explicit (and it isn't meant to be a lover-intimate scene), there's a bit where Akira is pre-uni and struggling with his sexuality and looking for guidance. While there isn't any shenanigans, there -is- some touching, which happens closer to the end of that scene. Feel free to skip through that; it's for character development and growth as opposed to a major plot point so it shouldn't change the experience too much.
> 
> Important: This fic contains characters of whom are both male and female as well as one who identifies as neither and has ALL the genitalia. So boobs. And peen. And no-no square. There are also E X P L I C I T S C E N E S where said character makes use of ALL their gifts. These are...kind of hard to skip without losing a bunch of plot. Whoops. 
> 
> There's also touches of religion because - I mean, Satan? Bruh?
> 
> For the few who've ventured this far, thank you! I hope you enjoy, feel free to point out any errors (no beta and, again, it's - Jesus nearly 2:30am) and stay safe out there you beautiful humans!

Devilman Crybaby: Rebirth

For a millennia, there was nothing.

Eventually, they became aware of the deep, echoing darkness; of a cold that made them wonder if there had ever been warmth; of silence that seemed to scream. It continued to be that way for so long that they thought it went on for a hundred, thousand lives; one couldn't note the passage of time when nothing ever _changed_.

Then, seemingly all at once, it did.

There was light – an atom that grew slowly, achingly slowly, brighter. Other things became noticeable as well; the rustle of invisible winds, the dense cold ebbing into blazing heat then back again, the quiet, subtle sounds of _life_. They would have laughed if they could recall how to make sound; would have wept if they could remember how. The slow, endless nothingness that they had been drifting in for God-knew how long was gaining color, light, life. They knew that time – a concept they could grasp once again, with the ebb and flow of change around them – was moving swiftly, stars winking in and out of existence, asteroids streaking across the black and purple canvas of the solar system. Some collided and turned to dust – more so streaked past, not near or slow enough to be captured in the gravity of the swiftly growing star some light years away. As planets came into alignment and moons with them, memories returned to the drifting being.

Like a film – yes, they remembered, they remembered it _all_ – past lives unfolded before them, seeming to run a reel in fast-motion in time with the developing worlds. God – war – demons – humans – death. / _Akira!./_

When they became self-aware again, they were floating in a completed universe, looking just the same as the one they had traveled to before. No, no, that wasn't quite right – the vibrant blue planet they remembered sported two moons as opposed to the lone one they knew it once had and they realized that the second, cracked 'moon' was actually the place that they lived, the planet that they called home. A shudder rocked them, trembling from their very core to the ends of their wings.

_/I still exist./_ It was odd, having a body again, being able to see and feel and interact with surroundings. The minuscule sting of space dust against their skin was as welcome as a spring rain. _/Was I given another chance? Or did He put too much of Himself in me, making it impossible to be rid of me fully?/_

There was no answer and they didn't dare to question the gift aloud, to seek out the only one who might have answers that they may or may not be willing to give. Their mind was already set to one goal, radiant wings folding back as they soared past the dusty planets far from the star burning brightly at the center of their orbit. _/If my thoughts are fact, then every soul taken from Earth would have been reborn to the new planet./_ They streaked as fast as any comet through the debris of space, eyes hardly blinking, life continuing around them. _/No matter the body you retain, I will find you, Akira. That is my promise to you./_

….......

On a dark September night, a shooting star broke through the atmosphere and struck somewhere in the deep jungle. When the people of a nearby village went to investigate, they found a path of destruction streaking for half a kilometer and two dozen meters deep at its lowest point with nothing at its end but several long, pure-white feathers.

* * *

It was odd, being back in a world that was so familiar and yet, not. They went through each village, each town, each city, searching for the correct soul. It was an easy thing, remaining unseen by the mortals who had inhabited the planet; people saw what they wanted to see, after all, so if it was unexpected they were liable to excuse it. They had no need for sleeping or eating, simply putting their senses out when they arrived to a new land, chasing down any souls who felt familiar (Miki, as they were called when they knew her, was in the body of an older, native woman in what was Russia while Taro, her brother from the first world, was in that of a spoiled Austrian princess).

It was years – a few decades or so – before they felt it. Felt _him_.

Going bolt upright from where they had been laying on the corpse of a whale they turned northwest, wings fanning out. Foolish to think that they wouldn't have sensed him coming into existence – foolish to have spent all this time searching when he hadn't even been _born_ into the world yet. They flew straight and true to where the one they were searching for had been born into the world, heart singing in a way that hadn't happened since they were fighting with Akira all that time ago.

_/Akira, I promise to treasure you. You will have me, always./_

* * *

He was in England.

They of course knew every language, both forgotten and not yet spoken but it was still something of a shock to not have flown to the little country further east. Despite the change in location and body, they knew it was Akira from the moment they laid eyes on him; a babe, small and scrunched and red-faced from crying. He was no more than a day old and the mother, alone for the moment, had apparently exhausted herself, had given birth alone. The smell of waste was strong though when they checked, it was not coming from Akira. His small form was wrapped, cleaned and laying in a crib beside a bed where his mother lay, a bowl of dirty water and scraps of cloth nearby. The woman was gaunt and filthy, blood and excrement soaking into the bed, her breathing and blond hair matted and greasy.

Leaving the window that they had flown in through open, they walked past the bed to the crib, reaching out to take up to sobbing child. The bellows calmed slightly as they brought the child to their chest, holding him against their warm skin.

“Akira.” The soft, musical voice seemed to settle the baby even more and pale, squinting eyes opened for just a moment before closing, the child whimpering. “Shh, shh, it's alright,” they coaxed, rocking their arms gently. “I've found you. Don't worry, Akira; nothing bad will ever happen to you, now.”

Turning away from the crib they started for the window and paused, one arm tucked snuggly around the swaddled babe while the other brushed against down-soft, blond strands. On the one hand, they could take Akira now, keep him safe and protected, never have him out of sight. On the other hand, humans, at least in the old world, forged different ties with those they considered family figures versus those they considered friends. While they, and immortal being, have lived since before time and could easily see the distinction, Akira was mortal. He would never be able to come to terms with the relationship they wished to repair, to grow, if they were acting as a guardian, not to mention he would not get the same nourishment of human companionship and development with them.

With a regretful sigh and a gentle brush down the child's cheek they turned to the woman unconscious and slowly dying on the bed. “This is for him,” they said, voice going unheard by the sprawled blond. “Know that your purpose from here out is to tend to his needs. See that you survive long enough to raise him.”

They held out a hand, drawing on the strength that they had not attempted since their fall from grace. Somewhat to their surprise the power flowed through like an old friend, coming out of slender fingers in almost sluggish tendrils. It grew stronger as it worked, swirling over the mess of cloth and dispelling the waste there before curling up along the woman's calves, thighs, hips. Tears were repaired, internal bleeding halted, blood encouraged to multiply. In minutes she was flushed with color and sleeping peacefully, the skirts of her dress and bedding underneath cleaned, one hand curled over her clothed belly.

Looking down at the babe starting to fuss again, they smiled. “Are you hungry, Akira?” Three steps brought the pair over to the prone woman and they arranged her, sitting her further upright with an arm around the waist and pulling her top down to expose breasts swollen with milk. With careful hands they set Akira into the cradle of her arms, getting him to latch on before looking around the small room, taking it in for the first time.

A single bed, a wash basin set in the wall. A writing desk and chair, with a pen in an inkwell and a drawer presumably with supplies. A letter was on the desk, they noted, the woman pleading for help from her parents in the way of funds. _'My husband has left, during this sickly pregnancy,'_ it said in shaky, curving font. _'I do not know if this will reach you in time to save me, but for my last wish, please raise my son William as if he were your own. I know you wanted a boy so very desperately; he is my last gift to you.'_

“William? How common.” A touch was all that it took to set the letter aflame, the paper burning so hotly and quickly that the ash swept away as dust. They set their hand down flat on the surface of the desk, concentrating. As they let their hand rise straight upward, precious stones and metals of all kinds spilled out, piling up until it covered two thirds of the desk in jewels. “Enough for this life and the next to live in wealth,” they mused before turning back to the pair, walking over to the bed once more.

“Ah, have you finished?” Taking up the sleepy-eyed babe they brought him carefully to their shoulder before patting, getting the air out. “You were starved, weren't you? Then again, you are always hungry,” they mused, hand switching from patting to rubbing them back again. “It's a good thing that you have me to look out for you. Your mother has no excuse to let you go hungry. Either of you.”

After letting the babe nurse once more and burping him again, they cleaned the baby up then set him back down, the tiny mouth opening in a surprisingly large yawn as pale eyes slid close. “Sleep well and grow fast, Akira,” they murmured, brushing a kiss across the babe's forehead. “We have much to catch up on, once you're old enough to remember.”

Padding to the window they climbed out, being sure to close it behind them to keep out the draft. The woman would awaken hours later feeling back to full health, suddenly rich and with her baby just starting to fuss, ready for another bout of nursing.

* * *

Akira – William, as his mother and those who were introduced by her called him – was all chubby cheeks and curiosity and a seemingly, near-endless hunger. With the gifts that they had bestowed unto the little family the mother – Elisabeth Porter – moved out of the small room and bought a house in a nicer neighborhood, paying in full upfront and putting some funds into investments, most of it going away into the bank to collect interest. She provided them food and clothing and clean surroundings, seemingly forgoing housekeepers, cooks and nannies out of a fear of dwindling what she thought was a parting gift from either her parents or scoundrel of a husband, cooking and cleaning an tending to Akira.

Elisabeth would sing to the babe, rock him when he cried, read to him from books she picked up from town with brightly-done pictures. There was a unyielding, fervent love of her only family that made them content that she would use her mortal form to tend to the boy's every need.

Throughout the day, when she would set the babe down for a nap until his next feeding and go off to do chores or rest herself, they would enter, walking over to the bassinet or crib or pram where Akira lay. Most of the early days the boy would be sleeping, full of mother's milk and swaddled. On some few, lucky moments, pale eyes would still be open, blinking slowly as if fighting a doze. Either way, they would react the same way.

“Come to me, now, little Akira,” they would murmur, taking up the child with curving arms and wings. There was one purchase that they greatly approved of when furnishings were being brought into the new home; a sturdy glider, made of heavy oak and cotton, its cushions stuffed with down. They would arrange their limbs carefully so as to settle in the seat meant to embrace and rock gently, back and fourth, on the gliding chair.

“You are small, as of yet,” they murmured sometimes, freeing the babe enough so that a tiny hand could wrap around their finger.

“Is your hunger ever satisfied?” That was asked with the fondness of an old friend, the smooth pad of a thumb brushing away at some milk leaking from the corner of the sleepy boy's mouth.

“I've missed you terribly, Akira,” they sighed as they paced on silent feet across the room, the sliver of moon casting only a dim glow through the closed shutters. It wasn't as if they needed light to see. “We will be together forever, I promise. You will be treasured.”

As the boy grew, eyes going from a watery blue-grey to a steady hazel, and blond curls darkening to a chestnut brown, his mother gave little thought to the way his eyes seemed to fix on the window as if waiting for something to happened, even with the mobile above his crib. She laughed when his first word was, “Food!” shouted with triumph, was shocked and impressed when it was followed later with, “Treasure.”

Though she grew a bit worried when he mentioned a friend, a chat with his doctor put her at ease. It was a sure thing, Dr. Witherby said, for an only child to come up with an imaginary friend. The fact that he had come up with one at so young an age spoke volumes for the intelligence of the lad.

“I would recommend getting him tutors straight away, to encourage the developing mind as he is too young for proper schooling as of yet,” he continued, packing up his tools for the home visit. “He is healthy, in mind and body. Nothing to worry about.”

With that endorsement, Elisabeth took to getting the best tutor for her son, buying toys meant to help develop the mind. She had been given a second chance, after all – _they_ had been given a second chance. It wouldn't do to waste it by whittling the days away. William would not grow up in the same conditions as she had been and left to drown in his mistakes. William was her miracle child, after all.

* * *

He couldn't say how long he'd known his angel.

Of course, William didn't know what angels were until years later; his mother had him baptized closer to five years of age and his tutor, Mr. Nicely, read about the angels from the Bible, described as these monstrous, horrifying beasts. Some were said to have a dozen tigers' heads; nearly all were said to shine with such a radiant light that no mere mortal could look upon them or they would be struck down, instantly, burned from the inside out.

The first time William walked into the church and looked upon the stain-glass windows, though, he knew exactly what depiction was right.

Mostly right, in any case.

Still, it would be foolish to just assume and after his mother kissed his forehead and slipped from his room William sat up, jaw opening in a wide yawn before the familiar rush of _warmthjoylove_ swept into his room, a smell like wildflowers and sunlight and fresh rain and something just out of reach but sweet enough to make his chest ache came, the winged being stepping into his bedroom.

“Akira.” They were wearing a pale, gauzy fabric that seemed more for his modesty than their own (William can recall, faintly, the warmth of skin as he was cuddled) and they stepped forward, walking up to his bed and sitting while barely leaving a dent.

It was easy and familiar to scoot over to where they had sat and tuck against their right side as an arm was raised, the arm coming down with more than a hundred feathers following suit, encasing William in a cocoon of warmth and love.

William no longer asked why they insisted on calling him Akira – the answer went above his head and anyway, he had made a name for his friend, too. “Pretty, are you an angel?” The being hadn't ever not answered any question he asked and William was confident and comfortable enough to go to them with anything his mother said she didn't know and his tutor thought he too young to understand. While Mr. Nicely was right most of the time, it was still frustrating.

The hand that had been stroking at his hair paused for several beats before continuing, that musical voice speaking. “If you mean when I was originally made, then yes. I do not think that you could call me such now.”

“But there were pictures,” William insisted, pushing back to look up into amused blue eyes. “At the church. They told me they were angels.” While there hadn't been nearly as many pictures of the celestial beings as he would have liked William had been sure to point them out and ask, demanding. “They look like you.”

“Oh, do they now?” Warm fingers entangled in his hair and William felt his eyes grow heavy. Years of being petting to sleep made it hard to resist. “Hm, I imagine they look a little more human that I. Your kind do like to imprint your image to other beings.”

“Um.” William wasn't sure what to make of that, the gently tugging fingers and exhausting day making him groggy. “They had two big wings, not a lot of big and small ones.” He reached up but was too tied to finish the motion to stroke the down-soft feather near Pretty's scalp, yawning again. “You call me Akira.”

“Yes.”

“Because – it was my name?”

“Yes,” they said again, nails trailing lightly at the nape of William's neck. “To put it simply.”

Struggling to keep speaking William yawned once – twice – blinked furiously several times before his lashes seemed to gain weights and drag the lids down. “Angels – have names.”

“Hm.” There was a pause and William felt himself start to drift, the voice like a dream weaving through his mind. “Putting names to individual creatures is a human concept but yes, they do.”

“..What's your-” Another deep, jaw-cracking yawn. “-name?”

William couldn't say when to slipped from awareness into unconsciousness. He dreamed of standing out on a grassy hill, staring out onto the ocean. The sun was – rising? Setting? - throwing brilliant red and golds across the sky and he could feel the sea breeze stinging his cheeks, feel the springy grass under bare feet. It was different from a dream, somehow, not quite a memory, either. It felt familiar yet not and he tried to chase that feeling, tried to figure out if he had been here before-

“Akira!”

Starting he turned to see a boy, perhaps late in school years with blond hair cut short on the sides and longer on top, standing in a long white coat with a high collar, one hand outstretched. He blinked and the boy was replaced with his angel, golden strands tousled by the wind, the gauzy, white robe fluttering along with their wings. Their hand was outstretched and when he reached out the being smiled, a full, bright thing that made Akira's breath hitch and sprung straight up, shooting into the sky.

“Catch me if you can, Akira!”

_/But I can't fly./_ was on the tip of his tongue before he became suddenly aware of his body. Broad, sturdy shoulders; strong, muscular thighs; solid, tanned arms with hands that ended in fingers curling like claws. He felt them, then, the solid weight pressing between his shoulder blades and down along his spine, heavy but not cumbersome.

_Wings_.

Spreading the leathery black wings Akira crouched, springing up into the air after his friend. The two flew, feinting and swooping at one another, sometimes flying side by side and sometimes tussling in the air, shouting and laughing. The sun moved neither to rise or set and eventually the pair tumbled-landed on the soft grass below, curled in on one another and Akira couldn't take his eyes away from the flushed and joyful face of his angel, hair and wings backlit by the sun in a radiant halo.

* * *

It felt as if something had shifted, after that night. William wasn't sure if he had actually asked for Pretty's name; if he had, then it would be rude to ask for it again since he'd fallen asleep, right? It also seemed rude to keep calling the angel by a name other than what they were given or chosen. It was several nights later before William got around to asking what name the angel would rather go by.

“It matters not what you call me,” they answered, voice like chimes on a warm breeze. “In this world, you know me as Pretty. That suits well enough.”

“What about before?” William insisted, determined. “What did I call you?”

Pale lashes lowered in a slow, even blink before the angel ducked their head, pressing a cool forehead against William's warm one. “You knew me as Ryo.”

William worked the name silently, mouthing it with his eyes closed. _/Ryo, Ryo, Ryo.../_ “...Hn.”

“What is it, my treasure?”

William was quiet for a moment longer before speaking, muttering, “I like Pretty better.”

There were some moments in William's short life that were precious to him, cherished in his little heart. Pulling the soft, tinkling laughter from Pretty – from Ryo – was at the top of the list.

* * *

Akira had just turned eight when they had an Issue.

Elisabeth, being a rich 'widow' who lived on the outskirts of town, was a curiosity to the townsfolk. There were few suitors though the years, with her main focus being on making sure Akira got the best in education and upbringing. Mortals did have the need – the urge for companionship, which lead to Thomas Black calling upon her.

He was a tall man of a slender build, non-threatening after her brute of an ex-husband and charming. He had warm brown eyes and dark hair trimmed neatly above his ears, which were a touch large farming his oval face. He had thin lips quick with a smirk and witty remark and Akira's mother was quite smitten after just a few meetings. Enough so to allow the man to visit her at home.

Enough to introduce him to her son.

Being a creature made from divine magic, they were able to see into the hearts of mortals they came across. It was a skill meant to be used in order to sway them towards the 'light' or 'darkness,' to see what drove the individual and exploit it. Diverting the light in the room away from them so as not to draw attention and move in the shadows undetected, they were present when Elisabeth introduced Akira to her new paramour, the man going to one knee to offer Akira a hand to shake at eye level.

The man practically oozed with urge to _devour._

* * *

When, several days later, Elisabeth hadn't heard from the soft-spoken man who treated her and her boy with such kindness, she inquired in town only to find that he had disappeared, seemingly fled into the night. The items in his room were still there; it had been locked up tight, as if he were only out for a jaunt and simply hadn't returned. It was later discovered that he had a gambling debt and owed several people money, as well as having an overdue tab in two of the local pubs. He'd likely sought her out for money, to pay off his debts, she soon realized. He'd likely run off when his collectors became impatient, the officer she had spoken to said with an apologetic shrug.

Elisabeth was disappointed, true, though happy to have dodged a bullet she hadn't realize was coming for her. There would be other men, less devious, less evil. She would find someone who would love her and her little one as if he were their own. She had long since given up on the man who had walked out on them returning; didn't want such an abusive, toxic man to return. She would simply be more cautious.

Later, long after she'd set William to bed and had drifted off herself, Elisabeth jolted awake, heart pounding in her chest. It took no time at all for her to realize why she had awoken; _what_ had called her to rise.

“Jesus, Mother and Mary,” she breathed, sitting bolt upright and scrambling back against the headboard, pillows bunching up underneath her. There, in the middle of what would have been a darkened room, stood the most beautiful being she had ever seen. It seemed to glow from a radiant light underneath the skin, several sets of beautiful, billowing wings stretched out to touch the ceiling and far walls of the room. It was draped in what looked to be white silk and gave her the softest, most heartbreaking smile she had ever seen. “Are – are you death, come to take me away?”

“No, Elisabeth.” Tears sprang to her eyes, unbidden, streaking down her cheeks before she even registered them. “I am here for you, though not to take you away.” The being stepped forward, the angelic features both somehow feminine and masculine, framed in silken blonde locks shifting with the slow beat of the the smaller, yet no less beautiful, cranial wings. Elisabeth thought she could see the swell of breasts at their chest – thought she could also see the bulge of something lower that made her squeeze her knees together, heat rushing between her thighs. “I have been watching you. You are lonely, are you not?”

Elisabeth swallowed, licked her lips. Swallowed again. “Y-yes,” she stammered, voice horse, heart pounding against her ribs.

They took another step forward, then another, coming to the foot of the bed. “You have dedicated yourself to you son and your new life,” the being said, voice still gentle, the sound like Goodness itself. “When you opened yourself to another, they betrayed you. You've worked so hard and so selflessly. You should be rewarded.”

Elisabeth swallowed again, her own breathing sounding harsh in her ears, so sharp and _human_ next to this - “-Are you – are you my guardian angel?” What other answer could there be? The being was right – she _did_ work hard. She _did_ deserve to catch a break. The gift of gold and gems from her ex was owed to her, for all that he put her – put her and William – though, was deserved since he refused to show his face. Could she have something just for her, be just a little bit selfish?

“No.” Elisabeth started, thinking that the being was reading her mind, somehow. Their voice hadn't changed in tone, though, continuing a moment later. “I am not your guardian angel. I am, however, someone who can help.” They rose – simply _lifted off the ground_ , with a lazy flick of two sets of wings, landing on the bed whilst hardly dipping the mattress. They walked towards her again, pausing when they were standing above her, looking down with that benevolent smile and beautiful eyes. “I would need a promise from you, though, dear Elisabeth.”

“Anything,” she breathed, entranced, staring up with wide, pale grey eyes, before shaking her head slight and steadying herself. “Anything, so long as my boy is happy and safe.”

That seemed to please the being more than ever, if the way the wings drifted up then slowly down stood for anything. “Good,” they murmured before continuing. “I will come to you, Elisabeth, every Sunday night, in the late hours. I will give you more pleasure than you would ever get from a mortal man, into the small hours of the following day.” Elisabeth's groin throbbed at the words, more heat pooling between her thighs. “However, should you lay with any mortal as you lay with me, I will leave and take with me what you hold dear.”

Shuddering at the words Elisabeth willed her breathing to even, to take in what she could. On the one hand, she could refuse and go back to trying, struggling on her own, stay on guard, hope and wish and pray for someone for her and her boy. On the other hand..

Perhaps the angel was the answer to her prayers.

“I – yes.” Elisabeth took a deep breath, relaxed the grip on the sheets clutched to her chest, looked up to meet the being's gaze. “I agree to your terms.”

At once, the silks covering the ethereal body slid away. There were breasts, she saw, as well as a penis, a flush beginning to come to the pale skin as it swelled. Between the pale thighs were folds and valleys much like her own and Elisabeth sat, stunned, trying to take in what she'd just agreed to. “You will be treasured,” the being said as they reached out, fingertips coasting along her cheek. The touch was gentle and cool and warm and sent licks of heat though her, starting from where the fingers touched down throat, her chest, her breasts. “Open.”

Flushed and near-panting already she did so, the swelling cock pushed gently into her mouth. Elisabeth felt her eyes roll, her hands coming up to touch pale hips; it was nothing like the bitter-salty tang of her husband's length, forcing himself down her throat while she gagged and tried to breathe. The taste was like sunlight and nectar; ambrosia resided within, if only she were to worship well enough to be granted such a gift.

“You are dear,” the tinkling voice said and Elisabeth moaned around her bounty, eyes closing against the beauty of the moment. “Even now, you give selflessly. How much pleasure do you get from this, sweet babe? Are you wet?”

The crude words spoken by such an angelic being made her shudder, one of her hands sliding from its hip to go between her own. Try to, at any rate – with the tangle the sheets had become in her initial panic and the being standing atop them Elisabeth was all but trapped and she groaned in frustration, rubbing her thighs together, needing to _feel_.

“Stop.”

One moment, her mouth was full of heat and sweetness; the next she was empty, chilled, eyes blinking open. The being had drawn back, though not to leave; they jumped, though it wasn't so much a jump as a lifting of their legs, a wing waving negligently, blowing the sheet and blankets away in one smooth motion. Then the being was landing lightly, reaching for her nightgown, pulling the material over her head and tossing it away. They stood, staring down at her for a long moment and Elisabeth started to bring her hands up to cover her modesty, flushing. “Stop,” they said and she did, arms halfway to her chest, hesitating before letting her arms rest at her sides, fingers curling at the pillows at her hips. “You're beautiful,” the being said, giving her one of those warm, heart-melting smiles before moving down, down, down, cool hands parting her thighs before that lovely face buried itself in her folds.

It didn't take long her Elisabeth to cry out, a fist flying to her mouth to bite down on, trembling and gasping as a warm tongue flicked at her clit. Sagging against the headboard, eyes wide, she was still struggling for some kind of composure when both of her ankles were grabbed, pulling to lay her flat on her back. Then that angelic face was right in front of her, leaning in for a kiss as she noted the moisture at their lips and chin. It was like that, tasting herself on a gently thrusting tongue that the being entered her, cock long and hard and insistent.

The moan that pulled from her was muffled by the kiss, which Elisabeth was thankful for, as well as the neighbors being some distance away. The first thrust wasn't that so much as it was a steady insertion, filling her as deep and wide as she needed before stopping. The kiss continued on, stealing her breath and filling her with want, breaking into several small, sweet kisses once she was filled to the brim. “I'm going to take you, now,” the being said, voice still musical and soft. “Be ready.”

“Yes, yes – _yes!_ ” The last was a gasp as the angel slid out and thrust firmly back in, thrusting against a spot that made her toes curl and back arch. There wasn't time to catch her breath; the being was moving, a steady, rolling thrust that wasn't slow but didn't have the same sense of urgency that she'd gotten from other men making use of her. She wasn't being used – she was being _cherished_ , pleasured and loved. The thought on its own was enough to make her sob in joy, clutching at the being's shoulders, feeling the ripple of back muscles and flex and fold of wings. The buildup was happening again, more quickly than she realized, breath hitching higher and higher before she came again, moaning helplessly, clenching and trembling around the cock within her.

That _continued_ to move within her, though her orgasm, pausing as slender hips rolled while buried deep within her moist folds, her own hips twitching uncontrollably. Several times.

“God,” she panted, chest heaving, body going limp. “Oh, God-”

“No. Not God.” The being seemed to be waiting for something and it was then that Elisabeth realized that they were still hard, buried to the hilt within her. Giving her a soft, lingering kiss the being pulled back but didn't pull out; they took up her ankles once again, placing one leg, then the other on their shoulders and holding her thighs before starting to thrust again, these short, shallow things that made her breath hitch and hips arch.

“G- I don't- _ahh_ , Sweet Mother Mary-” Losing her train of thought with a particularly firm thrust and hip-swivel Elisabeth tried again, body gearing up for yet _another_ orgasm, Jesus. “I don't – know your – name – oh!”

From what Elisabeth could tell, the question seemed to amuse the being. They moved their hips with ease, the sound of skin-slapping-skin seeming especially perverted in the otherwise silent house. “Mortals place so much baring on names,” they said, not sounding close to done, not even sounding _winded_. “Are you sure you wish to know, dear Elisabeth?”

“Yes – yes!” Her hands, having gained strength again, moved one to the swelling numb between her thighs, the other to her left breast. “What – is – your – name!”

The being leaned forward, bending her nearly painfully as they continued to thrust, building the pace seemingly with her urgency. “My name,” they breathed by her ear, a tongue that felt almost forked flicking out over the lobe. “What you will call me as you are undone, is Satan.”

“Satan!” Not even the shock and horror of what she had done could prevent the powerful orgasm from hitting her, the blonde all but screaming the name into the ceiling as she came for a third time. She felt wrung-out, stripped bare. With her eyes closed she could feel the body moving away to unfold her, the still-hard length withdrawing, her legs being placed down. She was sweaty, panting, dripping her moisture down her rear and thighs and wreaked. “You have damned my soul.”

“I have no use for souls, as it were,” the melodic voice said and Elisabeth shuddered, body reacting to the tone by trying to make her even slicker. “I have not lied to you, dear Elisabeth. I will treasure you and treat you with more love and care than any mortal man can give you, once per week, should you keep your promise to me.”

“And take no human lovers.”

“Yes.”

“And if I refuse?”

She could hear the smile in the angel's – in the _devil's_ voice, the amusement. “You've already agreed to the terms. You know what will happen if you break them.”

“You take what I hold dear-” It was then that full implication of her foolhardy promise sank in, eyes snapping open and moving to push herself upright. “I will not let you take William's soul!”

She was pushed down and rolled on to her side, suddenly, an arm coming around her and pinning both her torso and arm in place. Soft lips moved to speak by her ear, murmuring. “As I mentioned before, I have no need for souls. My goal, for the moment, is to insure that you keep your promise and keep you satisfied enough not to consider breaking it.'

“The devil lies,” she whispered, trembling. “You will tell me what I want to hear, to let my guard down.”

“No,” the devil said, tone still soft, touch gentle but unyielding. “Once a promise is made, it is a contact that I cannot break. It is a moral tenancy to lie and cheat, to get what you want; I have not the same restrictions as you and therefore higher standards, as well as greater power.”

Elisabeth shuddered again, licking her lips, shoulders sagging in defeat. “I suppose I have no way of defeating you, do I.”

“You do not.”

“Nor would running away do any good?”

“I know where you are, always,” the devil said, sounding – not apologetic, but something similar.

Heart clenching, Elisabeth tried to swallow the lump in her throat, shaking her head. “Then it is hopeless. I must – do what needs doing.”

The arm encircling her shifts, the flat of a palm stroking over her stomach, down over the dark curls between her thighs, back up and over to cup a breast. And despite it all, dammit, _in_ spite of it all, she felt her body react, eager and electric under the attention. “You need do nothing but take your pleasure,” the silken voice murmured and then another arm was sliding underneath her, cupping her other breast before the arm atop her slid down, grasped the back of her knee. Raised her leg and positioned the still-hard cock against her folds. “Now, shall we continue?”

Tired, wrung-out and-wound-up, Elisabeth did the only thing she felt she could. She took a breath, tilted her head and arched her back. “Yes,” she whispered, eyes on the standing mirror against her wall. She could only see from her face to her bellybutton, the multitude of wings covering any negative space, a tumble of blond locks and half of that sweet, heart-shaped, angelic face, lips brushing against her ear. “Please.”

* * *

William learned, over time, not to mention his nightly visitor. When he mentioned it to other children they went on about odd things, describing creatures that were _obviously_ made-up or talking over him, trying to come up with and even PRETTIER angel with BIGGER wings. When he mentioned it to adults they either grew annoyed, pretended to believe him or, in one case, got worried and called on the Constable and his mother. His mother had stressed that it was made-up; that this 'imaginary friend' was nothing more than that. The man, with his bushy beard, pocked face and round belly, had insisted he speak with William on his own, getting him to describe, in detail, these nightly visits.

After several minutes of questioning the man had let out a low, huffing laugh, nodding to William and opening the door to his room to step out into the hall where his mother was pacing, in front of her own door. “Your boy is a bright one,” he said, tipping his hat to her. “All's well, ma'am. I would suggest encouraging him to make some friends; seems lonely, is all.”

That night, after bidding his mother goodnight and heading into his room William changed for bed as his window was pushed open, shivering as the crisp evening air touched his skin. It didn't last long – nearly the moment he noticed the chill it was gone, canceled out by the half-circle of wings hovering around his form. Sighing he finished changing, slipping off the button-up shirt to exchange for a softer cotton one. William turned, then, struck as he was always by the taller angel. “Pretty. Are you real?”

They were draped in soft fabrics, as usual, silhouetted by the half-moon shining though his open shutters. The backdrop of light made it harder to see the angel's expression but William thought he could make out surprise and amusement, blond head tilting. “Do you believe me to be a false image?”

William blinked, frowned. Shook his head. “No. At least, I don't think so. That is – you, you know how there are people that, who they, who get-”

“Come.”

Without thinking William reached out, taking hold of the hand offered to him and letting himself be pulled to bed. Pretty pulled him close and with the ease of years of practice folded and curved their wings to lay on their back, letting William rest atop with a cheek pressing their chest, just below their throat. “Now. What is your question?”

William couldn't help it; he yawned, the instant comfort and familiarity of the position calling his body to sleep. “I think you're real,” he says quietly, voice steady. “But no one believes me when I try to tell them about you. And you know how they have the people who – who yell on corners, and expose themselves to women in the evenings and hurt themselves? Well, they.-” Another yawn, one strong enough to make his jaw ache. “They don't think they're crazy.”

“Mm.”

“Am I crazy?”

Slender fingers curl in his chocolate strands, alternating between stroking and lightly tugging. “Not at all,” Pretty replied, voice the same as that William heard in his dreams. “But they aren't meant to know of me, Akira. They wouldn't understand.”

“They _don't_ understand,” William muttered, eyes closed. “I just hate that people think you aren't real.”

The fingers in his hair shift to curl at the back of William's neck, lightly stroking. “I am alright with that,” Pretty said. “I was meant for you. You are the reason I came to this world.”

“I am?”

“Mmhm.”

“What about before? In your other world? I was there, too, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, if that's where we first met, why were you there? Were you born there, like me?”

Pretty was quiet for long enough that William started to drift, breathing evening out as his mind slipped into a doze. The rumble of the musical voice made William jerk, slightly, arms clutching at the body underneath him in reflex. “It was a punishment.”

The boy wasn't awake enough to respond, simply mumbling against the comforting body and beginning to drift again, the steady _thump, thump, thump_ of a heartbeat lulling his dreams.

* * *

“You can't come here anymore.”

They paused just beyond the entry to Akira's room, wings only part of the way inside. They had noticed recently that Akira had grown more antsy, a little more withdrawn, a bit awkward. He'd grown quickly, gaining height though not much weight so it was this long beanpole of a mortal, all ungainly limbs and aching joints. He'd become fastidious about washing up after his mother made a comment of his 'manly aroma' and had seemed frankly horrified when hair had begun sprouting over his limbs and sensitive areas, making him self-conscious.

Swallowing down the initial screech of denial they finished drawing their wings into the room – the old home had been sold when Akira was just shy of 10, his mother reasoning that Akira would get a better education at the higher learning facility in the city. The sale of their old home afforded one with bigger bedrooms for the two of them and guests as its previous owner wanted a quick sale to retire in the countryside. Standing in the room they considered Akira for a long moment.

Unlike in his childhood home, Akira had decorated the room he now had himself. It was bigger, with a fireplace in the wall and fitted with state of the art electricity, though only a single lamp on his nightstand was on. There was a sturdy writing desk and wing-back chair, a dresser with a broad mirror attached, a standing mirror, a stool and stand where his cello sat along with a stand for sheet music, his violin beside that. The harp, taken up in the last year, was by the wall leading to his private washroom, a purchase he had shown them with much excitement. The gem-colored walls were covered mainly in sheet music, with an acceptance letter to his current school in with the cream-colored pages, bringing splashes of brightness to the otherwise dark interior. He'd also opted on several light-colored throws, insisting that the mahogany floors would be too cold for his bare feet otherwise.

“What makes you say that, Akira?”

The brunet – his hair seemed to be getting darker over time, going from a chocolate-brown almost to dusk – ducked his head, arms wrapping around himself. He was bare-foot and bare-chested, just a pair of simple pants on to counter the lingering late summer warmth. “I mean,” he mumbled and even his voice was different, set to break and crack without warning. “It's weird, a guy sleeping with someone they aren't married to. Right?”

Shoulders relaxing they smiled, a quiet thing. They knew what was happening – should have known it would be coming, to be honest. Akira had been a late bloomer in his last life, too. “Does this have to do with the dreams you've been having?”

Akira went bright red – his skin, once so pale, had gained a bit of a tan, kissed by the summer sun, or so his mother thought – arms tightening around himself. “I'mnothavingdreams,” he said in a rush, obviously embarrassed. “It's just _weird_.”

“Akira, there's nothing strange about this,” they said, stepping forward, reassuring. “It's natural for the human body to go through changes-”

“Ahhh, no! Stop!” Akira's hands had slapped over his ears, eyes scrunching closed as he shook his head. “T-that's embarrassing to talk about, alright? I just need to have some alone time that's, uh, actually, alone.” From where they stood they could see the bob of Akira's Adam's Apple, “I, I need to, be able to figure some stuff out.”

“Hm.” They nodded slowly, gaze fixed on the dark-haired boy. “What is it that you need to figure out?”

There's a frustrated sound pulled from Akira at that and he begins to pace, hands moving to pull at his hair. “Everything! I don't know! I smell weird and I hurt and I'm _hungry_ like, _all the time_ and there's these weird feelings and girls are paying attention to me but boys are-” He stopped, groaning. “I can't think about boys, though, it's against the Bible and wrong-”

“Says who?”

“-but I – what? Don't be daft,” Akira said, scowling. “Says everyone! Says God!”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no? It's in the Bible!”

“And who wrote it?”

“Who-” Akira wavered, blinked. “Well, Moses? Probably?”

They smiles, encouraging. “And Moses was?”

It took Akira a few moments of blinking and frowning before he spoke, hesitant. “A. A man?”

“He was mortal,” they agreed, moving close once again. Akira didn't fight against it, didn't protest when they set their hands on his bare shoulders. Akira shivered; perhaps he was a touch cool and should wear a full sleep set. “And morals are known to give in to temptation, to alter things to benefit them. Do you believe that someone with the power to sway hundreds – thousands of people would stay fully unbiased?”

Akira chewed at his lower lip, the skin already torn from him apparently gnawing at it earlier. Clucking in disapproval they reached up to use the thumb of their right hand to coax the abused skin free, stroking lightly over the reddened area. “Probably not.”

“Good boy,” they murmured and Akira shuddered again. They frowned. “Come, let's get you into bed. There's a chill.”

“I'm fine!” Akira stepped back, stopping once several steps out of their grip. “There's something else, too.”

“Yes?”

The boy struggled, wiping his palms on the thighs of his pants, seemingly either nervous or anxious. “It's. I. There's. Ugh,” he huffed, turning his back to them.

“...Akira?”

“I don't know what to think of you,” he got out, not as rushed as earlier but said as if it pained him. “I don't – I've known you for as long as I remember, as far back as I can think of, but. I've got these...”

They waited, sensing the struggle and knowing that it was something Akira was going to have to work though on his own. He begun to pace again, keeping his gaze averted, head down to the ground. “I'm feeling things,” Akira said after a while, breath coming in puffs. “For girls, for b-boys. And when I think of you-” The flush that had been ebbing returned, bright as ever. “I don't know what to think. I'm confused. I don't even know if I should think of you as a guy or a girl-”

“I an both,” they said quietly, watching Akira with their eyes. “I am neither.”

“But how does that even _work_?” He was pulling at his hair again, that lip caught between his teeth. “And, like, do I even _like_ girls if I feel the way I do about boys? Or am I g- am I gay and don't actually like girls? I can't even _talk_ to anyone about this!”

“Akira. You can.” Akira continued to pace, breathing ragged. “You are. Look at me.”

Akira growled, turned, faltered, arms dropping to his sides. With his panting and pacing he hadn't heard the sound of fabric slipping away, falling into a pile on the cream-colored throw. They stood bare to the open air, arms and wings spread. “You're naked.”

“I am,” they said simply, that quiet smile in place. “You are confused. Look upon me and find what excites you.”

“OhGod,” Akira mumbled, covering his face. Peeking between his fingers as if unable to help himself. “Pretty, I can't-”

“You can.”

“I _can't_ just-”

“You can,” they said steadily, moving close. Reaching out they took hold of one of Akira's wrists, pulling it away from his face with just a light tug. “You have me to talk to, Akira. I am here for you, always, for anything.” It no longer struck them as odd for Akira to be able to meet his gaze; though still a bit shorter than them, Akira _had_ gained a lot of height. “Use me to discover yourself.”

The shudder that went through Akira couldn't be mistaken for cold any longer. The skin under their palm was burning hot, radiating life. “I. Is this okay?”

They smiled, brought the hand in their grip to their chest. Let go. “Yes.”

Akira swallowed. Lowered his other hand from his face. He was still breathing heavily but it seemed to be more in anticipation than anything else, hazel eyes gone black as he slid the palm down their chest, covering a breast. “You've always been there for me,” he murmured like a prayer, the other palm coming up to rest lightly on their curved waist.

“Oh, Akira,” they sighed like a song, cupping flushed cheeks in either hand. “I always will be.”

* * *

The years seemed to slip by faster as Akira got older, going through schooling and enrolling to several universities in the city as well as further out. All came back with acceptances and it was down to choosing between the local uni and staying close to home and choosing one of the schools further out, seeing something new. In the end, the idea of getting to making his own start somewhere new was too exciting to pass up and so William found himself bending to hug his sobbing mother at the train station, towering over the woman who'd raised him. “Mum, it's fine, I'll visit on the hols.”

“You had better,” she insisted with a sniff, wiping at her eyes. “Take care of yourself. I love you.”

“Love you too, Mum.”

The ride out of the city and through the countryside was long – the longest trip that William could remember taking. He tried to sleep through the rocking of the car and only did so fitfully, jerking awake at random intervals, feeling too exposed and overwhelmed. He thought of the mistake that it had been, choosing to go to school so far- really, what had he been thinking? - and by the time dawn broke he was groggy and grouchy and already homesick.

Once off the train and on campus, though, William felt the excitement build again. He would have his own room and board paid for thanks to his scholarships and couldn't wait to make friends, go to parties, find a _girlfriend_ -

_/Or a boyfriend-/_

He was excited to get started on this next chapter of his life.

It wasn't until hours later, after checking in, getting the tour and turning in for the night, that doubts begun to creep in once again. William had told Pretty quite firmly that he wanted to have some time to himself, to get adjusted and see what it was like, actually being on his own. The angel had agreed, reluctantly, n the condition that William call for them should he need them.

William laid in bed for perhaps an hour before he realized that he wasn't even trying to sleep; he was waiting. Huffing and sitting up and flopping on to his side he tucked his legs underneath himself, face half-buried in the pillow. “A fortnight,” he grumbled, closing his eyes forcibly and trying not to feel cold. “Don't be such a bloody baby.”

* * *

William lasted all of a week before he gave in, calling out to his angel softly, than louder. After a few hours he fell into a fitful sleep, shaking and ill.

* * *

William awoke to being lifted, sat upright.

“Mngh-!”

“Hush, Treasure. It is I.”

Fists lowering from their flail William sagged, trying to force his eyes open. He could see the blurred image of his angel, feel the unsettling motion of being lifted and carried. He had been stripped, William realized after long moments – while he was being lowered into a warm bath. “You're here,” he mumbled, dizzy.

“I am. Here, Dearest, drink this.”

Something hard and cold was pressed to his lips and William obediently swallow, the cool water pouring from the glass and down his throat. It felt heavenly and he sighed when it was gone, still somewhat supported by the angel, set in the clawfoot tub with his upper body being supported. “You didn – come when I called. I waited.”

“I know, Dear One,” they said and William closed his eyes, head lolling. “It was Sunday and I had an appointment.”

He didn't speak for long moments, half-conscious and dizzy. A cloth was dragged over his face, down his neck, across his chest. As it worked his arms and his pits William spoke up. “Thought you only had me.”

There was a low hum, the sound of the cloth being dipped and swirled in the water. “There is,” they said quietly, going to work on his other arm. “I made a promise to someone, long ago, to ensure your safety. I keep that promise now.”

“Wha...” It was difficult, after over a week of little sleep and being ill, to follow any kind of conversation. “Wha was...”

“Hush, Treasure,” the angel murmured, the words followed by a fleeting kiss to his temple. “If you remember this once you're well again, I will explain later.”

There was no answer. William had already fallen back into unconsciousness, comforted by the presence of his angel and knowing he would be taken care of.

* * *

It was four days and five nights of around the clock care before William felt himself again with Pretty tending to him the entire time (and hadn't _that_ been a treat, having the angel around during the day, all day?). It was brilliant, having the angel feed him, bathe him, look after him. If there had ever been any doubt about how much Pretty cared for him, it would have been wiped away in that week.

Even with that thought in mind, it unnerved William to be back at his home, albeit on the roof.

“Pretty, I thought we were going to your, uh. Appointment?”

True to his word, when William had woken up, feeling brill and demanding to know about this elusive 'Sunday Meeting,' the angel had dipped their head in a slight bow and offered to show him. Pretty had insisted that he bundle up for the ride and when William had caught sight of himself in the mirror, hadn't fought it. Despite the bout of sickness, he was broad as ever – muscled and tanned and tone, if feeling rather weak in body – his hair, looking an inky black in the low lighting, was a mess, equally dark eyes looking to be lined with coal.

“We are.” When William turned Pretty was watching him with a somber expression, normally clear blue eyes dark. “You must make me a promise, Akira.”

William straightened, nodding. “Yeah, sure.”

“You must stay silent,” they said, gaze fixed on him. “And be careful not to fall.”

“That's two things.”

A flicker of amusement crossed their features and the angel moved forward, reaching out to cup his cheek. William couldn't help but flush; the journey, in which the angel had held him while they flew, was both exhilarating and alarming. William had to wrap his arms and legs tightly around the being to not fall (even though Pretty had assured him that he wouldn't fall, even if he let go) and being pressed so fully to someone for that long, feeling their breasts against his chest through his coat, the bulge at their front rocking against his own which, to his horror, had started to respond...

“Promise me.”

“Aye, yes, I'll be quiet and not snap my neck sliding off the roof,” William said, shaking the thoughts away. He _really_ needed to see about getting a lover, to take his mind away from the angel. The night he had been allowed to touch, prod and caress the other had done nothing but confuse him more and leave him with an ache that he was too embarrassed to deal with once morning came and the angel had slipped out of his bedroom window.

“Good boy,” Pretty murmured, giving him a smile more complicated than William thought possible. Then they stepped backwards, drifting down off of the roof and to-

_/Mum's window?/_

Baffled, William sat for a moment before the soft murmur of voices came to him. It was then he realized that the window was open and he moved carefully down the sloping roof, to the edge to hear what was being said more clearly.

“-out my son. The days are lonely.”

William swallowed, thought tight. He knew that his mother would take him leaving hard but hearing the pained voice made him feel like the most selfish arse there was. William bowed his head, closing his eyes.

“You wish to break the contact, then?”

_/Contract?/_

“I...” There was a low sound, like a whimper. William would have been more alarmed if it were anyone besides Pretty in there with his mother. She spoke again, pleading. “Please, there – has to – be a way!”

Her voice had risen at the end as if in a sob and William was tempted to break his promise and risk breaking his neck after all. He moved closer to the edge instead, bracing his hands on the gutter, leaning down to try and look in the window. A window that wasn't as low as he initially thought; were he in the room, he could easily climb up onto the roof from the sill, maybe jumping a bit. It took some time for William's eyes to adjust from the sparse lighting from the stars and few city lights still burning to the relative darkness of the bedroom.

Relative, except where Pretty and his mother were.

It took some time for William to actually process what he was seeing. Pretty had left their silken robes in a pile at the side of the bed, looking like a pile of broken wings. His mother had – well, didn't look to of had any clothing to begin with, the glow of the angel's radiant body lighting her up as if under a lamppost. She was there, on her knees and bent over, her arms pulled behind her. Her straight blond hair was a mess, as if she'd been sleeping before their arrival, head bowed. William could see her lips parted in soft huffs and groans that he couldn't hear from up on the roof, ripples going though her body with each rocking motion.

Pretty – his angel, the being of whom he shared a bed with every night for nearly two decades, was nude as well, wings fanning lazily behind them, moving behind his mother in lazy motions. The angel had each of the blond's arms held at the wrist, using them as leverage, using them to move her over their cock. William could see the cock that he'd touched swollen and stiff, glimpses of it seen with each outward stroke and disappearing with every inward thrust. Their breasts bounced with each thrust, nipples hard and pointed skyward as if waiting to be worshiped.

His angel.

His angel was fucking his mother.

A low, guttural moan came from the blond woman at that moment, her back arching as her body begun to tremble. Pretty seemed to expect this, thrusting deep and staying there, rocking their hips together. “God, oh God-”

“Now, now,” Pretty said, sounding as quiet and calm as always. “Let's not start that, again. I asked you a question; were you trying to break your contract?” They let go of his mother's arms and she fell forward, arse in the air, panting.

“T-there has to be-”

Pretty drew back and thrust suddenly forward, pulling a sharp gasp from her. “Answer the question, beauty,” they said, then begun a brutal pace, hands on either side of her hips, the sound of slapping skin like gunshots.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!”

“You want a mortal lover?”

She moaned, sounding helpless, face mostly buried in the pillows. “I – I want companionship,” she moaned, pushing back against the thrusting, not bothering to try and get her arms underneath herself.

“And if they cannot pleasure you the way I can?” Pretty reached out and pulled on the blond's shoulders – sat back on their calves. One hand curving around her throat the other moved to her chest, grasping a breast to squeeze, plucking at a dusty colored nipple. “Will you be satisfied with your 'companionship' then?”

As she moaned, William felt dizzy, off-kilter. He started to push back up on to the roof when he he realized that Pretty was looking _right_ at him, balls deep within William's mother and speaking as if they were having a spot of tea.

“Please, please, oh, Satan-!”

William scrambled back, slapping a hand over his mouth, temples throbbing.

William didn't know how long he laid there, eyes closed, his mother's words echoing in his head, seeming to clank around like a wrench thrown down a pipe. He curled up, hands over his ears, whimpering as it whispered through his mind.

_/”Please, please, oh, Satan-_

_Please, oh, Satan-_

_oh, **Satan** -”/_

“Akira?!” Strong arms, bundling him up. There was that whooshing, heavy feeling of being airborne, being carried. William couldn't pay attention – there was something building in his mind, a pressure fit to burst. “Akira, why aren't you answering? Akira-”

“God DAMNIT Ryo!” He sprung to his feet, pointing at the blond. “You're always so fucking impulsive!”

And he could see them, see them both, the fallen angel crouched over where he'd been laid and another blond – hair short on the sides, long on top, features definitely masculine, superimposed over one another.

“Akira?” Twin voice spoke, a bare (glove-covered) and reaching out to him, fingers cool (from the leather) and-

The pressure broke.

_Ryo, by himself, with no family to call his own-_

_Ryo, holding a rock over the kitten, impassive-_

_Ryo, driving in his car, talking about demons-_

_Ryo, in the club, watching the other drunk and high patroons with a critical eye-_

_Ryo, breaking a bottle, stabbing and slicing into people-_

_Ryo, helping him hunt demons-_

_Ryo, betraying him-_

_Satan._

* * *

Akira woke to the smell of the ocean.

He lay there for long moments, eyes still closed, breathing deeply. The sound of crashing waves and call of gulls reached his ears, the warmth of the sun kissing his skin. His coat was gone, he realized, sense of touch coming to him; he could feel it beneath him, removed and laid out like a blanket. The shirt he'd manage to squeeze into was gone, too, strangely enough, though his trousers seemed to be in place. They did feel too snug, as if he'd swollen, though he didn't do anything for that yet. “How long was I out?”

The soft, petting hand that had been stroking at his chest went still, pressing. “Maybe three days.”

“Maybe?”

“I took us home,” Ryo – Satan – said, tapping at his chest. Akira opened his eyes and his breath hitched on its own accord, throat going tight. “Yes, I was surprised to see it just as I remembered. This world is just the same as our other one.”

“Hm.” Akira pushed himself upright, the uncomfortable press at his back making itself known. It took a moment for him to adjust to sitting up with the leathery wings and he moved them carefully, stretching here and there.

“I have a theory,” Satan – Pretty – Ryo – _Satan_ said, leaning on one arm and rolling onto their side, looking up at him. “That because you died having conquered a demon, its soul became entwined with yours. It had to wait until you were closer to the age you were when-”

“When you killed me.”

Satan winced, a full body twitch that made their wings curl in on themselves. “Yes. To be able to fully manifest. Even then, it needed a trigger.”

“Hm.”

“Akira?” Looking away from the sun in the distance he looked down at the fallen angel. Satan looked – _worried_ , the Cupid's bow lips turned downward, brows drawn together. “Akira, you must know, I didn't mean it.” Shifting into an upright position they reached out, clutching at the too-tight pants, blue eyes wide. “I didn't mean to kill you, I didn't mean to bring the End, I only wanted us to be together, no humans to bother us, I just wanted it to be us and only us, always, I'm sorry, I killed you, I killed you and I'm so-”

Akira dropped into a crouch, grasping Satan's hands even as his pants ripped, split. “Damnit,” he muttered, meeting that worried gaze with his own stoic one. “Ry- Satan. Which do you prefer?”

“Whatever you wish to call me,” they said quickly, eagerly.

Akira considered it, nodding slowly. “Right. Part of me is always going to think of you of Ryo but you're very different from the boy I grew up with-” _/Pretty, you named them Pretty-/_ “-So. Satan. I'm pissed.” Akira's hands flexed at that, the bones grinding under his grip. Satan seemed to hardly notice the pain, riveted. “I'm pissed that you lead to everyone I knew and loved in my old world dying. I'm pissed that you _killed_ me, damnit.”

“I know, I know I did, I'm so sorry-”

“But,” Akira continued, speaking over them. The fallen angel fell silent. “You were the one, I'm sure now, who helped my mother here when I was born. You helped our family and were my first friend and were kind and patient and everything I needed growing up, even when I didn't know it.” Akira paused, the grip on the blond's wrist relaxing just to holding, a light touch. “Do you know how confusing that is? To have two sets of memories, many of them positive and the bad ones being – really, _really_ fucking bad?”

Satan swallowed, nodded. “I can't imagine.”

“So do you see why I can't say that I want to be friends yet?”

There was another flinch at that, the blond breathing quickly. Then they shook their wrist, freeing them easily from the loose grasp and reached out, resting a hand on either of Akira's shoulders ( _/Was that in this world, or the other one, where this happened before?/_ ). “What about a lover?”

Akira froze, shell shocked. “W-what?”

“You said you can't see me as a friend right now,” Satan said, looking into his face, blue eyes devouring. “What about a lover?” Satan moved forward, bringing their bodies together, sliding one leg between Akira's own. “You can use me, Akira,” they murmured, pressing their foreheads together. “I remember the way you looked at me, touched me. You can look and touch all that you want.”

Akira's hands found themselves on the slender waist, hands encircling the pale torso. “From our first world or from before?”

“Now,” Satan sighed, bringing their lips together, murmuring against his. “From now.” It didn't make much sense to Akira but he was too busy snogging the being above him to argue the point – didn't want to argue. The silk robes that Satan had taken to wearing had been laid out on the grass beside his discarded coat; it was nothing at all to spin them, to set the blond atop them, to hold himself over the pliant figure and slide his gaze over the valleys and mounds. “Akira...”

“I want to do everything.” He was hungry for it – almost desperate – the shredded scraps that clung to his hips ripped away with a hard tug. Weight resting mostly on his knees Akira grasped each breast, squeezing, face lowering to lave a tongue over the right nipple while he tweaked the other with broad fingers. “Did you ever cum?”

Satan was gasping, arching, seemingly startled by their own reaction to the touch as a musical whimper warbled from their throat. “I, what?”

“Did you ever cum,” Akira growled, teeth nipping at the bud before he turned to nuzzle the other. He could feel the hardness of their cock rocking against his stomach, in the trailing patch of hair that lead to his own throbbing need. “When you fucked her?”

Understanding flickered in the smoky gaze and Satan shook their head, chest rising against Akira's touch with each breath. “No, no, never, that was a chore, a promise made to a lonely woman. I never wanted her.” Hands, soft as silk and stroking through his hair in an achingly familiar motion. Curling, stroking, tugging. “It was always you.”

With a growl Akira dove in for a kiss, thrusting his tongue against Satan's as they moaned and writhed. Then he was sliding down, settling between their legs, using a hand to spread one thigh out and up, wanting to see everything.

Satan shifted, went still. The cock that Akira had seen flaccid many times and hard only once before was – practically like _steel_ , ridged and flushed red with the foreskin drawing back, exposing the moisture gathering at the tip. He reached out, wrapping a fist around the length and drew down to the base, exposing more of the swollen head and causing more precum to gather, dribbling out and down the shaft. There were sacs, smaller than the average make, the skin silky-soft when Akira brush his thumb between them, fingers still wrapped around the leaking member.

Shifting to rest fully on his stomach Akira used his thumb to draw the sacs up, gathering them carefully into his palm as he delved deeper. There was moisture there; warm lips parted in welcome, seeming to move with the beat of a heart. As Akira watched the lips flexed, a smell like cold nights spent indoors and curling up in front of a fire growing stronger, the dark-haired male licking his lips. He moved forward, holding the softness of Satan's sacs aside to lap a tongue through the damp valley, holding the blond in place when they jerked and kicked, moaning into the sky.

“Oh yes, yes, Akira, it's always been you, only you-”

Akira sucked lightly at the intimate lips, pulling a howl from the fallen angel and feeling as more precum leaked from their need, the hand holding the cock and balls alternating between careful squeezes and a massaging thumb. Satan couldn't seem to keep still; between the twitching hips and bell-like moans Akira thought he was fit to burst.

“A- Akira!”

Drawing back with a slow suck Akira shifted again, making sure to keep the raised leg away from his head as he let go of Satan's cock to slide the fingers down and into the damp cavern, mouth coming down on the leaking cock to suck instead. Even with his grip the fallen angel had an unfair advantage, wings of their ankles and head flexing and curling, cries shouted into the heavens. “Akira – I – I-!”

The moist walls around his fingers clenched, every muscle in the body beneath him going stiff. Then Akira's mouth was filling with ambrosia, a warm, mildly sweet flavor that had Akira swallowing without thought, chasing the taste. The inner walls were still pulsing around his fingers by the time he withdrew them, having cleaned Satin of every last drop. As Satan laid stunned, gaze unfocused and dazed Akira brought the two slick digits to his mouth, dragging the flat of his tongue over the sticky pads. “It's different,” he murmured in quiet awe, lapping at them so more.

Then he was on his back.

Blinking up at the sky, Satan came into focus a moment later – silhouetted, rumpled, flushed. It was the most _human_ Akira had ever seen them; even the wings that crowned their head were down, the feathers blending with the tousled locks, a look so full of hunger and joy and _love_ that Akira was blinking back tears.

“Always you.” A firm grasp brought the state of his arousal into the forefront and Akira groaned, weakly. “Shh, my love, my treasure. I will take care of everything.” With those words the blond pressed their lips together, adjusting the hold of Akira's cock, aiming. Drawing back they rose up on their knees and pressed the head of Akira's cock to those slick lips, bumping the spongy head against them once – twice - before dropping down, fully encasing Akira's cock in the heated cavern.

“Oh hell-” Akira didn't have time to catch his breath. The blond was moving, arms going behind them to balance on his thighs, which he scrambled to raise a moment later, breasts bouncing enticingly. Akira grasped the bouncing hips for support s well as to ground himself, hips snapping upward with each of Satan's downward strokes. “Fuck, this is – good, it's so good-”

“Yes, Akira!”

“You feel like – you feel like sin,” Akira gasped, thrusting getting desperate. “Like paradise-”

“Yes, yes, for you, only for you-”

“I want you to com again.” The sound of skin slapping was louder even of that of the ocean, drowning out the call of the gulls. “I want to see you undone.”

“Yes-”

“I want to take you apart-”

“Yes-”

“You're mine,” Akira growled, toes tearing streaks in the earth, pounding into the blond like a force of nature, Satan's entire body jolting with the movements. “Say it.”

“I-I'm – yours!”

Akira groaned, letting go of the curve of a hip as his own orgasm struck him, wrapping a hand around the again-swollen cock slapping at the blond's stomach. “Come on, love – let me see you.”

There was a shudder, a tension, then they were coming together, Satan both tightening in pulsing clenches around the cock buried within them and spurting out a few doses of that ambrosia-like seed, spilling it onto Akira's stomach, wings stretched out and trembling as if shot with an electric current.

When Akira became aware once again it was with a solid weight sprawled over him, the both of them having caught their breath sometime when he was out of it. “I'm still mad at you.”

Satan sighed and stretched, curling both their body and wings around Akira like a cocoon. The way they always did. “I know.”

He waited a bit before speaking up again, the nagging thought unwilling to lave him be once he'd thought it. “Are we going to have to fight again?”

Despite Akira's tension Satan didn't seem worried. They seemed like – like they would actually go to _sleep_ , something that Akira had never seen before. “I thought of humans as annoying, spiteful creatures who would destroy themselves, either way. I thought I was doing them a favor.”

Nonplussed Akira pushed. “And?”

“They mean something to you.” A hand rose, brushing against Akira's nose. Move to his hair to curl into, stroking, lightly tugging. “I promised myself that I would dedicate this existence to making you happy. If that means sharing a planet with humans, I am content to do that, a hundred lives over.”

The tension seeped out of Akira in a rush, lips tugging upwards at the corners. “Well, it's a start,” he said, a sudden jaw-cracking yawn striking him. “We'll work on the rest.”

“Hm.”

Laying atop their tangle of clothing both ruined and not, Akira tried to commit everything about the moment to memory. The salty scent of the ocean in the air; the call of the gulls, looking for their next meal. The sweet taste of Satan's nectar lingering on his tongue was swiftly becoming his favorite flavor along with the feel of their fingers in his hair, stroking, curling, tugging.

And the sun, in a backdrop free of clouds, rising in the sky.


End file.
